


Pray

by TheRedWulf



Series: Roosa One Shots [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Children, F/M, Family, Grief/Mourning, King and Queen in the North, Loss of Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Older Man/Younger Woman, Out of Character, Roosa - Freeform, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Canon - In which the King and Queen in the North experience loss...Picset is viewableHERE
Relationships: Roose Bolton & Sansa Stark, Roose Bolton/Sansa Stark
Series: Roosa One Shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1469906
Comments: 37
Kudos: 122





	Pray

**Author's Note:**

> This bounced around my brain and I seriously debated not posting it at all. Please read the tags and if any of them are triggering or upsetting to you, you might want to pass on reading this. This story deals with a miscarriage and grief. While it DOES have a happy ending, it has an overall melancholy tone.
> 
> Please note this is, quite obviously, very AU...bye-bye canon! Peace!
> 
> I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.  
> Thank you for reading!

She lay prostrate, her body collapsed on the snow at the foot of the great Weirwood tree, her upper body cradled in its roots. Sobs tore from her body in harsh waves, shaking her slender frame to the point that she seemed to vibrate with movement. She could hardly breathe, hardly comprehend the pain that was coursing through her. And he could not blame her.

Beyond the bounds of the Godswood, life was surely carrying on as usual. Winterfell would be teeming with life and the smallfolk would be blissfully unaware that their Queen was quickly unravelling. 

Their King, however, was acutely aware of the situation, though he was helpless to fix it. He had walked swiftly from his solar the moment that a servant had quietly brought him the news. He wouldn’t run and start a panic amongst the gossips, but he wanted to reach her quickly. He had to reach her quickly. 

The sight that greeted him tore at his heart; his wife was lying in the snow, her cloak billowed around her and her hair a curtain of fire that concealed her face from view. She looked as if she had fallen and simply not cared to right herself. 

He moved to her side, kneeling to brush the hair from her face. Her porcelain skin was ruddy and blotchy, her eyes swollen and cheeks streaked with tears. 

“My Queen” he said softly and she sobbed harder, her thin frame shaking against the snow. 

“Leave me” she begged, trying to turn her face away but her caught her chin, gently guiding her eyes to his. 

“If you think for a second that I would leave you to lay in the snow, you do not know me at all, My Queen” he said softly, ensuring that his voice would be a comfort rather than a reprimand. 

“Please” she whimpered. 

“No” he adjusted his stance and slid his arms under her body. As he stood, he lifted her into his arms and turned back to the great keep. While he expected a protest, he was grateful when she turned towards him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. 

He could feel the hot burn of her tears against his flesh, and it only served to spur his feet to move faster, carrying her back to the privacy of their rooms. 

“I am sorry” she whimpered, crying anew and shaking in his arms. “I am so sorry--” 

“Hush” he soothed her as he turned up the stairs that led to the master’s chambers. These rooms had once belonged to her parents and while he occasionally felt out of place here, he knew that she drew solace from that fact. She would never see her parents again, not in this life, and she felt close to them here and in the Godswood. He would not deny her that comfort, not now. 

Walking past her lady’s maid, he ignored her stare of confusion and stepped into their chambers, kicking the door shut behind him. Depositing her on the bed, he unbuckled her cloak and tossed the wet fabric aside. 

“Please” she whispered as he saw to her boots and the laces of her gown. 

“You will catch a cold if you remain in these” he explained as he tossed her boots to the rug beside the fire and unlaced her gown. “You shouldn’t have been lying in the snow in your condition--” 

“It doesn’t matter” she whispered and he paused as he was grabbing his thick robe to wrap her in. 

“It does” he correct firmly. “It does matter, greatly in fact, and I am insulted that you should care so little for your own life.” 

She looked contrite, lowering her eyes for a moment before she took a deep breath, “I am broken.” 

“No, you’re not” he assured her, pulling her gown and stays away before wrapping her in the thick robe. “Come,” he helped her to the bed and tucked her into the blankets, hoping to chase away the chill that he could feel lingered on her porcelain skin. 

“I have failed you” she whispered as she lay her head on the pillows. “I am nothing--”

“You have not failed me” he promised, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. 

“Do you regret it?” she asked. “Marrying me?” 

He clenched his jaw a moment before he took a deep breath, “You would be mad to think I could ever regret having you as my bride.” 

“I could be barren--” 

“You are not” he interjected. 

“He’s gone” she sobbed, turning her face into the pillow and, at this, he stretched out beside her, pulling her against the solid wall of his chest. 

“Shh” he soothed her. 

“He’s gone and I am so sorry” she choked out, trying to breathe. 

“Stop now” he whispered, running his hand over her hair. He had always found himself infatuated with the fiery locks and took every excuse he could to run his hands through them. His hands were those of a warrior, rough and calloused, but she never whispered a word of complaint as he ran them through her silky hair. In truth she seemed to take comfort in the touch.

“Please do not set me aside” she sobbed, her small hands moving from the blankets to clutch his doublet.

“Never” he promised. 

“Do not send me away, I do not want to leave you” she was lost to her sobs now and he could only hold her tightly, assuring her with his body that he was not going to send her away, that she would always be safe with him. 

She had feared him once, a very long time ago. She was delivered to his feet like chattel, bartered away by a man with little morality and more greed than could be measured. She had been afraid of everything, and their marriage had started on shaky, disintegrating ground. 

It had been the war against the Others that had united them, oddly enough. Working side by side to ensure the safety of their people, they had found common ground, and from there learned to appreciate and trust each other beyond the cold bounds of a political marriage. 

While Winterfell had suffered heavy losses at the arrival of the Night King, they had both survived and the resulting coupling had changed the path of their marriage. They formed an unbreakable bond, an irrefutable understanding and finally they moved forward as King and Queen of the North. 

Sansa had been elated when her moon’s blood did not come in the moons after the war and he would hold her close in the warmth of their chambers as she wondered as to what sort of person their child would be. Tall, stocky, dark of hair, red of hair, pale of eye, blue of eye, boy or girl; she had seemed to wonder on all of it. 

And now…He frowned deeply as she buried her face tighter against his neck and the warmth of her tears trailed down his skin and into his collar. Now they would have to start again. 

“Shh” he smoothed her hair from her face and placed a soft kiss on her temple. “Breathe, My Queen.” 

“I cannot” she sobbed. “It hurts too much.” 

“I know” he whispered, his lips dancing against her hairline. “I know.” 

“I’m sorry” she cried out and he tightened his hold. He did his best to anchor her in this world as her thoughts followed the child that would never live, into the next. 

Sansa sat on the bench in the Godswood, bundled tightly in her cloak and her husband’s to ward off the chill. Today was the first day that she felt strong enough to leave her chambers. She knew that the servants and small folk had begun to talk, but she cared not for the words they whispered and only for those spoken between her and her lord husband.

She stared intently at the embroidery in her hands, the small piece of fabric that would have become a blanket for their child, and felt her heart clench as it threatened to break once more. 

_”Miscarriage”_ , Maester Wolkan’s words echoed in her mind. _“Tis normal for a young woman’s first pregnancy”_ he added and still she only felt as if she were the worst sort of failure. 

She had stumbled to her chambers a sennight ago to a sharp pain in her stomach and blood---so much blood, she could only scream for help. She cried, she begged and pleaded for the maester to save her baby but he only shook his head, pronouncing it ‘too late’ to do so. 

She lay abed for hours until madness threatened to set in and she ran, going to the only place that she could think of and throwing herself upon the Gods’ mercy. She had failed her husband---failed their child, and she begged forgiveness from them both. Begged they accept her apology. 

Her husband had come, carrying her into the warmth of their shared room and caring for her in such a way that only made the pain in her chest worse. She had been terrified to marry him, terrified to be near him and yet he had proven to be a man of many facets and secrets. 

Footsteps sounded to her right and she turned to see the very man that had occupied her thoughts. 

Roose Bolton, King in the North and Lord of Winterfell and the Dreadfort. Her husband of nearly two years, Roose was a man who, while not imposing in size, could terrify even the most impassive of men with his apathetic stare. 

He was always unaffected by the world around him, cold and aloof, but with her he had been surprisingly calm. Warm and gentle, she found the Roose in their bedchambers to be at odds with Roose beyond the door. 

Lord Baelish had dropped her at Roose’s feet, initially brokering her marriage to Roose’s bastard son Ramsay. However, when Ramsay had died unexpectedly, Roose took his son’s place without pause. She was momentarily grateful, as Ramsay was rumored to be mad, but when she looked into Roose’s disinterested eyes on that first day, she was more afraid than she ever had been before. Could she ever please such an uncaring man? 

She had been so wrong to believe that he was uncaring. So very wrong. 

Their wedding was a small affair, here in the Godswood, and their wedding night was awkward but he went beyond his duty to ensure her comfort and that she was not greatly pained. They proceeded with caution in all areas of their relationship, but the necessity of the war against the Others brought them closer. 

At the threat of war they were working side by side, closer than ever to store food, weapons and armor. They would do all that they could to ensure that their people would survive this threat. And survive they had. 

The relief Sansa had felt at their victory had brought her to her knees, and that night, their first night of freedom from war, they had fallen into bed with abandon, desperate for each other and the affirmation that they were alive. 

They were so alive. 

“My Queen” Roose said softly as he sat beside her. It was his term of endearment for her, her title uttered with such an intimate voice that she felt it in her very core. 

“My King” she responded in kind, turning to meet his pale eyes. While Roose was much older than herself, she still found him singularly handsome, his eyes sparking with intelligence even when his expression was impassive. 

“Are you warm?” he asked, adjusting the cloaks around her shoulders. 

“I am,” she assured him with a soft smile. 

“I have missed your smile” he cupped her cheek, his thumb ghosting across the corner of her mouth. 

“It has been hard” she admitted, lowering her eyes. “Smiles are painful.” 

“I know” he said quietly, guiding her eyes back to his own. “But you are well, and that is what I care about.” 

“I am well” she repeated, though her heart still ached. 

He lowered her hands to hers, taking them gently and entwining their gloved fingers, “You are the strongest woman I know” he admitted softly. “Enduring King’s Landing and the war of the Others, but this” he paused, clenching his jaw for a moment. “I know this has been devastating for you.” 

“My King--” she whispered and he shook his head. 

“It has, My Queen, and I wish more than anything that I could take this burden from you” he lifted their joined fingers and kissed the back of her hand. 

“I feel as if I have failed you, My King” she admitted. 

“I would tell you a million times that you have not” he replied. 

“You are a King, you need an heir” she reasoned. 

“And I will have one,” he promised. “ _We_ will have one.” 

“My King” she frowned. 

“You are young, My Queen, a maiden when you came to our marriage bed and sometimes these things take time. Sometimes we must experience loss before we can experience joy” he said, his deep voice soft and reassuring. She never would have guessed that this soft, caring man was the same one that stood impassively as she dismounted her horse in Winterfell for the first time since she was a girl. 

“I feel as if I have experienced enough loss for ten lifetimes,” she sighed. 

“I know.” 

“Thank you” she whispered. “For being so patient with me. So understanding.” 

“There is no need to thank me,” he countered. “Should a man not be understanding of the hard truths of the word, he has no right to rule others.” 

She did not reply, as there was no need for words. She merely held tightly to his hands and let his strength seep into her, his warmth doing more to sooth her battered soul than any words ever could. 

They sat in the silence of the Godswood for sometime, but when a shiver of cold traced across her skin, Roose helped her to stand and walked with her inside.

**Epilogue**

He could hear the laughter from the courtyard below and before he could stop himself, his feet carried him towards the sound. 

From his vantage in the King’s solar, he could see the training yard below and the two small boys that were hanging on the fence rails, cheering on the knights as they trained. He couldn’t help but smile at their unbridled joy, even as their mother stood behind them, her hands ready to catch them should one of them fall from the fence rails. 

Rogar and Royce Bolton, second and fifth of their names respectively, were nearly five years old now. Both of them strong and as stubborn as their mother, though they were entirely Bolton in appearance. 

He watched Sansa as she hovered behind their sons, her ever-watchful eyes taking in every bit of their surroundings and he wondered if there had ever been a warrior as aware as a mother. Likely not, he determined as Royce’s foot slipped and he nearly tumbled from the fence, but Sansa’s hands were there to catch him, helping him to regain his footing before she began to watch once more. 

Many years ago, they had lost their first child. A son or daughter, Wolkan did not know, and he had nearly lost Sansa to the devastation. It had been a test of their marriage, more so than the war on the Others as he struggled to soothe her and remind her that she was, to him, more than a womb. 

Sansa had taken months to recover, to find her bearings and place in the world once more and he stood by her every moment without fail. He did not care if his advisors thought he had gone soft for her, she was his wife and she was the true blood of Winterfell. Both positions demanded respect. 

Like she did in all things, Sansa met her devastation with strength and courage, and when finally she initiated marital relations, he did his best to ensure that her pleasure was addressed first and without delay. Their passion had been renewed and he lost himself for hours, morning and night, in her beauty and their marriage bed.

Months later, when her moons blood did not come, he held her while she cried in terror, facing the fear that she would once again lose a child that she carried beneath her heart. Roose would never admit aloud, but as he held her he had prayed for the first time since he was a boy. He begged the Gods to be merciful on his wife, to protect her and their child. 

He was not a religious man, not by any stretch of the word, but he felt his pleas were heard. The Gods had been merciful, they had been kind. When Sansa’s time came, Roose did his best to occupy his mind, distracting himself from the sounds of her cries and the very real possibility that he could lose her. 

It was when the cries quieted and then began again that his feet carried him to the hallway outside the birthing room. There he stood, impassive and still, until the door opened and the midwife looked up at him with a smile. 

_”Her Grace has given you sons”_ she had beamed and Roose felt his body sag in relief. Sons, his mind raced as their cries spilled from the room. He shifted his stance and his eyes found her; sobbing with exhaustion, red faced and bloody, she was still the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms as she held a child on each arm.

As if she felt his gaze, Sansa lifted her eyes to his and smiled the most stunning smile, “Sons” she sobbed. 

“Sons” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, as the midwife rushed back into the room with a pile of linens, breaking their stolen moment. 

Speaking of gazes, he gave his wife a small smile as she looked up at him. She returned the gesture and blew him a brief kiss, turning just enough to see the swell of her stomach beneath her light grey gown. A daughter, Sansa hoped, as she was currently overrun by Bolton men. Or so she claimed. 

He could only pray, ask the Gods to protect his family and keep them in their care. 

No, he wasn’t a religious man, but if it meant their safety, he would do whatever he had to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
> @the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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